Living With Ghosts
by SolanaFae
Summary: She has given all she can to help everyone around her; but now she has nothing left to give. Can she be saved by the one person that has charged himself as her guardian before she falls apart entirely?
1. Chapter 1

*PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS FIC HAS BEEN MOVED FROM LYRIUMWOLF TO FADESFURY*

*authors note: although no names are mentioned throughout this particular piece it **is** written with the dragon age characters in mind. I of course own none of them- they belong to BioWare.*

Living With Ghosts.

**.ONE.**

Turning Sheep Into Goats.

_Tracing pathways in the sand, clutched tight to trembling whims_

_For the moment's whole enough to know the feeling when…_

-Rishloo

**.oOOo.**

She is standing as still as a statue facing the sea; bare feet sinking into the cold, gritty sand.

She is framed by the light of the full moon; a large silvery orb hanging low in the sky, casting its light over the dark sea.

A chill wind whips around her catching and lifting her hair, tossing strands over her eyes. The sea ripples, lapping lazily against the sand and the large flat rocks that sit at the edge of the water like squat stone sentries.

For what feels like an age, she does not move, her eyes watching the sea without really focusing; a far-away look on her face as the waves roll over each other in a timeless, playful dance.

Without warning she moves. She is long-limbed and graceful – a gazelle running across the plains of a far off place – and she is running into the sea; feet slipping underneath her.

The sea makes little noise as she runs into it and ducks under the frigid water.

She emerges, her breath coming ragged from achingly cold lungs and she climbs onto the flat top of one of the rocks; looking out over the sea.

She dives, her slender form straight as an arrow, then bending at the hips as she nears the water and once again she is gone; vanishing into the seemingly endless midnight blue.

It is like a baptism as she rises; the cold water flowing off of her body, cleansing and refreshing her and she steps out of the sea like a phoenix reborn.

She climbs back onto the rock and sits there, arms around her legs and her chin resting on her knees. The wind whips around her more forcefully now; quiet howling through the trees lining the cliff top above her that resonates with the silent mourning cry that echoes in her head and pours slowly over her cheeks.

She has done this for weeks, returning to the same spot and repeating the same actions; tracing pathways in the sand that only she can follow. It is almost as though she thinks that this ritual will absolve her for crimes that she heaps upon her shoulders.

She knows, however, that this is not the case but she continues in the hope that the rough salt of the sea will wash the blood from her hands and ease the guilt she carries every day and when it doesn't she returns home to the emptiness and memories and ever fading voices.

It is not unusual for her to shoulder these burdens and troubles alone, she has done that for many years – taking the blame and carrying guilt and sadness for things that have gone wrong, for people that have been hurt and especially for those that were no longer with her.

During the day, she is silent and strong; a fearless leader and a kind, compassionate friend. She is loyal, giving and a stalwart pillar for others to lean on.

At night she curls under her blankets, fistfuls of fabric clutched in her hands as she twists and turns in fitful sleepless rest.

She awakens in the early hours when the only illumination from the moonlight cutting knife-like through a slight opening in the drapes.

She is pale in the silvery glow; skin powder white as she moves through rooms where her only company is dust and old statues that look down at her with baleful accusation in their sightless eyes.

The silence is suffocating but she dares not make a sound; as though even the quietest whispered word would bring the walls surrounding her crashing down to ash, crumbled brick and stone.

She finds herself in the kitchen, fingertips running over surfaces and eyes focusing in the thin wintery slivers of light coming through the window. For a moment she watches the dust motes dance slowly in mid-air and feels a sudden sharp pang of loneliness that hits her chest causing her heart to constrict painfully.

She doesn't allow herself to feel for long and after a few breaths she silently berates herself and moves on; walking through the silvered patches of light on the cold stone floor.

She returns slowly to her room and sits on the edge of the bed, her back to the doors leading to her balcony; shoulders hunched over as she cradles her head in her hands.

She looks up, crystalline brittle tears on her cheeks, lips caught between teeth drawing tiny droplets of blood that sit on her skin like small shimmering rubies.

She lets out a ragged sob, fists pressed against her eyes as if this would be enough to shut out the voices that clamor loudly against her skull and she feels as though she will implode with the rage and the fear; the pain and the panic that all flutter wildly at her breast.

She tries to stand but her legs give way and she sinks to the floor in silent supplication and blindly reaches for the one thing that she knows will silence the noise in her head and she clutches it in her hands; feeling an odd comfort in the weight of it and the cold feel of it on her skin.

It is only one movement she needs, one swift delicate movement but in the reality of it her legendary courage fails her and she curls herself into a ball; near-hysterical sobs wrenching from her throat and burning her eyes.

She stays this way until the moonlight fades, bringing with it the harsh light of daybreak and she finally stands; clutching the bedposts and furniture to help her walk.

She splashes her face with brackish water, dresses with shaking fingers and turns to face her ghosts; waiting for them to fade away until night falls once more.


	2. Chapter 2

*PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS FIC HAS BEEN MOVED FROM LYRIUMWOLF TO FADESFURY*

*authors note: although no names are mentioned throughout this particular piece it **is** written with the dragon age characters in mind. I of course own none of them- they belong to BioWare.*

Living With Ghosts.

**.TWO.**

Hesitate

'_Cause I see you, but I can't feel you…anymore…so go away._

_I needed you, but I can't need you…anymore…you hesitate._

~Stone Sour

**.oOOo.**

He slipped away from her window as the first rays of the spring sun broke through the fading darkness of the night.

As always, he had watched her struggle with her emotions, battling to try and keep them tamped down and hidden until the walls she had built around herself crumbled; leaving her broken and lost.

He kept his careful vigil until those weak rays of light reached through the gap in the drapes and touched her as he longed to do.

With one last pained glance at her, he left her balcony and slowly climbed down the thick vines that crept over the walls of the estate like the thorns that grew around Sleeping Beauty during her fateful slumber.

He made his way to his own estate and instead of going to his room and sinking his troubles into a bottle, he climbed through the broken ceiling of his room and out onto the roof.

For a moment he watched the dawn fight through the disappearing night; pale blues and reds stretching over the deep velvet blue of the night sky, claiming it and banishing it.

The last stars winked into oblivion, the low crescent moon went out without a struggle; the sun replacing it with gentle golden hues.

He sat this way until the sun finally took its place in the sky and grew stronger. Although it was still early spring, the sun burned with warmth that barely touched him.

He sat chilled and shaken as he always did after he spent the night watching over her. For months he had seen the darkness take root, growing steadily inside her; the guilt, shame and despair that she carried more and more.

He had seen how well she hid it from the others during the day; the walls she built up around herself, the carefully made-up smile that she wore like a brittle mask and the lightness to her voice that was forced, so forced that it made his own throat tighten and his chest ache.

He had watched her change, slowly but surely since their final battle together. Many people had died due to the corrupt power struggle that had torn so many people apart. Friends had become enemies, lovers had turned hateful and spiteful and at the centre of it all had been her – desperately trying to cling to what was right; what was best for everyone involved; knowing all the while that she could never create and keep hold of the balance the city so badly needed.

He had never expected that the catalyst to the conclusion would have been one of their companions; a comrade that she had placed trust in, a person she had cared for, taken in and protected.

His actions had torn her apart and she still forgave him; giving him chance to leave before he was hunted and killed and he ran, leaving her to take the fall, bear the brunt of the cities anger and resentment and she carried it with grace even so.

That was months ago.

After the battle was won (and hard won at that) she retreated to her estate and stayed there for days.

Concern took over and people tried to visit, tried to talk to her and comfort her but she shooed them away with that brittle false smile and feigned tiredness so they would leave again.

Weeks passed and he grew tired and impatient with her and went to her to shake her out of whatever stupor she was in.

He had not been prepared for what he had seen when he entered her estate.

He had found her slumped over her kitchen table, bottles of wine and whiskey piled on the wooden tabletop, dark red and brown liquid pooling on the floor like blood and for a moment he thought it was blood and he hadn't seen her breathe at all since he walked in and for a moment he thought she had done the unthinkable.

He had lifted her from the chair, carrying her to her bathroom with ease and drawing hot water for a bath.

As he filled her tub, he studied her carefully.

Her normally thick, well kept hair was lank and unwashed; sticky strands falling over her eyes which were reddened, sunken and glassy. Her skin was mottled with bruises, cuts and scars; livid pink marks that stood out against her pale, sallow complexion.

He remembered from their nights spent together that her hips and breasts were full and rounded; her fingers slender; hands soft and gentle; legs long, powerful and smooth and yet now...

She was painfully thin; all planes and angles bones jutting out sharply like knife edges. He knew she had not been eating properly but now he saw her laying in the hot water; unfocused eyes on the ceiling and he knew it was worse than just a simple case of her needing time to come to terms with what had happened.

With a sigh, he removed his armour, placing his gauntlets on top of them and reached for a bar of soap.

Once he had lathered the soap, he carefully and gently started to wash her body. His hands remembered how soft her skin used to feel; how womanly and curved her body had been and now he felt only scarred skin, dips and hollows and then something else.

He lifted her hands and looked at her wrists; drawing in a sharp breath when he saw the ragged and angry open cuts that marred her skin like little open mouths gaping wordlessly at him.

His blood ran cold and he stared at her – this once strong, clever and beautiful woman; the one he used to whisper to while they shared a bed that she was _his_ and _only_ his; his proud warrior angel and now she looked as though she could barely lift her sword, let alone swing it in the graceful arcs she used to.

Ensuring she was dried, dressed in most comfortable nightdress and warm; he watched her until she slept and then stole away through her balcony doors; watching over her like her own personal sentinel.

With a sigh, he climbed from his roof and left his estate; heading for their usual meeting place where he saw her talking, laughing and smiling with the others; plotting the day ahead, deciding between them which job to take or should they take some time for themselves.

He joined them, looking beyond her painted smile, false laughter and the carefully placed mask she wore; seeing the turmoil underneath it all; the whorl of emotions behind the light-hearted demeanour that she so painstakingly forced into place each morning and his heart ached for her.

He wanted so badly to reach for her, to touch her hand or her shoulder and not feel as though she would break under his touch; he wanted to draw her into his arms and tell her that it was alright to grieve, to cry and to _feel_; but he kept his arms by his side; his gaze flitting to the red ribbon he wore around his wrist; the crest at his hip and he looked up; catching her eyes for a moment to find her also gazing at the crest he wore.

He watched her, watched her fold her arms across herself; closing herself off from everyone and watched her give a sudden thin excuse as to why she could not spend time with everyone today.

He watched her leave, slow steps that wobbled slightly; unsteady and needing help but never asking for it because that would be weak and stupid. He knew that walk, he knew her heart and he knew _her_ but he still did not go to her.

He let her walk away from them all, confused and hurt looks passing between them and he allowed her to retreat, to hide away and lock herself inside her walls; the protective womb that she curled her fetal self inside.

He let her leave again, knowing that when night fell he would be at her window, at her side without her knowing it; he would be felt but not seen; he would be needed even if her actions screamed she needed nobody.

When night fell, he would be her protector, her guardian and her pillar of strength and if it took a lifetime for her to wade through the thick blackness that she was trapped in; he would spend that lifetime at her side in the dark of night; illuminated only by the starlight, by the moonlight and like another one of her ghosts he would fade away by daybreak to remain at her side once more during the day.

**.oOOo.**

Thank you for the favorites, subscriptions and the lovely review! I really appreciate it!


	3. Chapter 3

*PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS FIC HAS BEEN MOVED FROM LYRIUMWOLF TO FADESFURY*

****THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS CONTENT THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING****

*authors note: although no names are mentioned throughout this particular piece it **is** written with the dragon age characters in mind. I of course own none of them- they belong to BioWare.*

Living With Ghosts.

**.THREE.**

_Let It Burn_

_As we sift through these ashes  
We find a spark that's alive  
A love that's longing for air so we'll survive_

~Cyrenic

**.oOOo.**

She awoke; head thick and heavy from sleep; mouth fuzzy and far too dry. With a quiet groan she reached blindly for the glass that she knew was there; only to grasp air.

Sighing, she opened her eyes slowly; blinking owlishly at the brightness of the sun streaming through her balcony doors.

She pulled herself slowly into a sitting position, limbs heavy and aching; she was barely able to support the weight of her head as it dropped forward like a wilting flower.

She looked down at her arms; fresh evidence of her nighttime ritual evident and she shook her head slowly; wondering when she would have the courage to see it through.

Gingerly she made her way to the basin on her dressing table and splashed her face with cold water, wincing at the sting of it.

She dressed; long sleeves and loose clothes to hide her shame and to hide how painfully thin she had become.

She wasn't stupid or naïve enough to believe that the others hadn't noticed the changes in her; but she knew they would not approach her about the matter. As long as she kept things balanced and peaceful nobody _really_ cared about what happened to her.

She took a deep breath and a hiss of air from between her lips showed the pain she felt in just simply breathing.

She cast a quick glance at herself in her looking glass and immediately wished she hadn't. She saw herself, skeletal and pale; skin stretched too tightly over bone, sunken cheeks and bruised eyes; cracked lips and dull hair.

The inner voice she had once been able to silence with an inward growl began to taunt her and she tried; she tried _so hard_ to keep it away, to quiet it but it grew louder over her own thoughts and squelched them down; eliminating any positive thoughts she may have once had.

Shaking, she sank to the floor; curling around herself while her inner voice laughed mockingly; tormenting her and listing her failures and ensuring that she knew just how pathetic she really was. She covered her ears with her hands but it grew louder still and vicious barbed words cut through her like a knife; slicing through any strength and resolve she had left.

She reached under the bed with a choked sob and drew out the dagger she always used and as a ragged cry tore from her throat she drew it across and up and waited for the night to finally take her away.

**.oOOo.**

He watches from the shadowed corners of her balcony as he always does; only tonight something is different. Something _feels _different, wrong; the air feels thick and charged as though an electric currant is pulsing around him.

He briefly wonders if _he_ is in there with her and is the reason for the crackle in the air and the mere thought makes him tense; his hand reaching for his blade only to remember he had left it behind.

He shakes his head to rid himself of any thoughts concerning _him_ and turns his attention to her window.

He watches her face herself in her mirror and, not for the first time, sees the damage she has done to her own body – the bruises, the scars and burn marks marring her once porcelain skin.

He swallows the lump that has risen unbidden in his throat and watches her expression change as she stares at her reflection. He sees anger, sadness and pain in her eyes and then despair as she turns away from herself; disgust as she sinks to the floor, covering her face with her hands.

He reaches his hand out to her window, desperately trying to stop himself from wrenching open the doors and going to her; his fingertips brushing the glass doors, his eyes closing briefly as he strengthens his resolve.

As he opens his eyes, a movement catches his attention and he watches in horror as he sees his beautiful warrior draw her dagger over her skin; the cry dragged from her throat heard through her balcony doors and he sees the red bloom over the silvery metal like a rose opening its petals.

Without a second thought he yanks open the doors, the glass shaking and near shattering and he runs to her; lifting her frail form in his arms and laying her on her bed. He gathers a clean cloth and water, cleaning her wounds and pressing the cloth against them to stem the blood flow; wondering if it will ever stop; the cloth stained crimson.

Time feels as though it has stopped; he can feel her pulse weakly thrumming against his fingers and he brushes a lock of hair from her face. Her eyes flutter open; the usual deep blue is gray and lifeless but something in them catches his breath – a spark in the ashes and a sliver of hope.

Her eyes become unfocused, confused and she makes pained whimpering noises as he inspects her body, cleaning new wounds and ensuring old ones are healing properly.

Once satisfied she is safe, he sits in a chair pulled up by her bedside; takes her hands in his, stroking her palms with his fingertips until her breathing steadies and slows signaling her descent into sleep.

With a heavy sigh, he leaves once more; shutting the doors quietly behind him, taking his usual place on her balcony, covered by shadows; ever watchful, ever present.

He fears that this is the night he will lose her completely; but as long as he remembers her before all of the battles, betrayals and deaths, as long as he can hold onto that spark he saw all too briefly in her eyes; he will fight to save her, to bring her back and keep her safe.

**.oOOo.**

Thank you again for the really lovely reviews – you guys are all awesome!


	4. Chapter 4

*PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS FIC HAS BEEN MOVED FROM LYRIUMWOLF TO FADESFURY*

*authors note: although no names are mentioned throughout this particular piece it **is** written with the dragon age characters in mind. I of course own none of them- they belong to BioWare.*

Living With Ghosts.

**.FOUR.**

_If I drown tonight, bring me back to life…Breathe your breath in me_

_The only thing I still believe in is you…If you only knew_

~Shinedown

**.oOOo.**

The night sky is just starting to become lighter when he notices a movement on the streets below – she has somehow evaded his careful nighttime guarding and is walking quickly through the streets, carrying a small bag tucked under her arm.

Cursing inwardly, he jumps gracefully down from her balcony and follows her as stealthily as possible.

He follows her through the twisting narrow pathways that lead through the town and out towards the coast; he thinks that she must be on one of the nightly visits to the cold sands and ever colder waters that the coast offers her at this time of year.

As he moves silently behind her, tracing her footsteps with his own; thankful for the shadows the inky black night provides him with, he finds his mind wandering to the times when she had been the light-hearted, happy and fierce warrior he had grown to care for deeply.

Insufficient words, really, it was more than a simple care for the woman; he loved her and even that admission seemed less than adequate.

In truth, he did not know where he would be without her – she had helped him, cared for him, taught him and shown him that he could live his life as freely as he wished to and he could recall every detail of every conversation they had had; he remembered every time she had brushed against him, smiled that secret smile she reserved for him and him _only_ and he had committed to memory every curve of her body; the feel of her skin as she moved with him and her scent; _oh her scent!_

He loved that the most; how he could catch even the faintest smell of her on a breeze; the combination of heady spices and something darkly sweet was always a mystery to him and he would find himself lost when she would sit next to him; her scent tantalizing and intoxicating.

He had searched frantically for a perfume bottle; finding nothing that came close to that near-euphoric smell and she had caught him once, leaning against the wall with a half-smile quirking her lips and an eyebrow arched.

He remembered trying to explain, his words coming faster than his brain could think of them and he gestured; helplessly caught in her gaze and then relief flooding him when she drew out a small vial from behind her back, opening it and dabbing a tiny amount on her wrist.

He had stepped forward then, grasping her hand and pressing his lips to her skin; his eyes suddenly dark and heavy-lidded; his senses flooded with a sharp jolt of spices, lust and an insatiable _need_; her lips curved in a sultry smile and her eyes matching his; wide and darkened with the same passion as his.

That night had passed in a blur for them both; a wonderful, sensual blur that left them exhausted and curled in each others' arms; letting most of the day slip away while they slept, ate and slept again, satiated and happy to ignore the outside world for a few more hours.

**.oOOo.**

She feels weak and sick but her mind is made up and she could not ignore the voice any longer; she didn't have the energy or the clarity to fight.

It had assaulted her, barbed words and harsh laughter than wormed their way into her brain; settling over her like a dark fog. When it first started, she had found ways to ignore it – singing old lullabies quietly, reading and even just the simple act of taking a hot bath had helped.

But after that final confrontation; the battle that had shaken not just the town but _her_ to the very core, the voice grew louder and became harder to ignore.

She quickly realized that pain quelled the sibilant hissing in the back of her mind; a sharp slap on her arms or legs that turned into something harder; something harsher. Without warning, without her even knowing how or why it had happened; it became worse, taking over her life and burning deeply in her soul.

She felt stained and unclean; taking nightly walks to the coast to dive under the cold water of the sea were a way of making her feel cleansed.

But this did not last long and soon enough she was drawing her dagger across herself, marking and marring her pale skin.

It helped for a time, but the voice never silenced.

She draws in air as deeply as she can before taking a new route, moving up the coast to the rocky cliff tops that overlook the sea.

She runs then, only one thought moving through her mind; each time her foot hits the ground the thought slams into her mind; louder and louder and the voice grows quieter and she smiles then.

She reaches the cliff top and sits for a while, looking out over the sea; watching the waves lapping gently at the shore, the sound of a few nocturnal birds chirruping to each other across the trees that she is surrounded by.

She likes having nothing but the night as her companion; the soft sound of the sea and the haunting cries of the gulls arcing overhead; the tang of salt on the breeze and the muted noises from nocturnal creatures stirring amongst shrubs and trees.

She wraps her arms around her body and closes her eyes; immersing herself in the solitude the coast brings.

Tonight she knows she is not alone, she is aware of keen eyes keeping vigil over her from the trees behind her and after a while of watching the sea she turns and squints at the tree line; spotting her guardian crouching like a shadowy wolf next to a large oak tree.

For a moment their eyes lock in the inky darkness and she shakes her head slowly; a gesture and a look in her eyes that tell him everything.

**.oOOo.**

He rises slowly from his position in the small glade created by the large trees; their knotted and gnarled trunks and branches winding together, offering shade and protection.

He sighs heavily, annoyed at himself for being seen and yet somehow happy that he had been – at least this way he could address his concerns and fears with her now.

It feels to him that the short walk towards her takes an age but he eventually reaches her and without a word he brushes her cheek with his fingertips; smiling briefly at the surprised look she gave him when she realized he was not wearing his usual gauntlets – or his armor.

He studied her as she studied him; he noted the way her clothes hung loosely on her far-too-slim body, the way her eyes were dulled, dark circles making them look bruised; her lips cracked and dry and her skin too pale; almost ghostly.

Without words, he took her hand and led her away from the edge of the cliff top; taking her to the glade he had been hiding in.

He sat, tugging her with him and for a while he just watched her as she chewed her lip nervously, eyes darting around.

He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs teasing her lip out from between her teeth and the stroked her cheek gently; his eyes a deep mossy green, searching her eyes and her face; looking past her brittle façade and into her heart and soul. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks and he brushed them away; pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her, one hand stroking her back and the other tangling in her hair.

He thought at first that his mind was playing tricks on him when he felt her lips press lightly on his neck and he pulled back and looked down at her; confused and then surprised when she tentatively brushed his lips with hers.

Something sparked inside him and he cradled her head with one hand, the other on the small of her back as he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her gently, relishing the feel of her body pressed against his as her arms circled around his neck.

As the kiss deepened he felt her hands move under his tunic, cold fingers grazing over his chest and igniting the lyrium within him, singing along his skin and coursing lust through his blood.

He felt quick, clever little hands tugging his tunic up and off, over his head and without thinking he followed suit, gently removing her clothes and then his leggings, goose bumps rising over their flesh as the cool night air wrapped around their naked bodies.

No words passed between them – there was no need for them as, like it had been before, their communication was in look and touch.

One shy glance – _are you sure? _

And a gentle touch – _yes, I'm sure. _

A sharp intake of breath – _I don't want to hurt you, mea. _

A breathy sigh – _go slow, love…_

He pulled away briefly to study her in the pale moonlight that cut through the dense trees and despite the fresh scars, the sharply jutting bones and the parchment thin, porcelain skin and her eyes, large and bright; shimmering slightly, reflecting the silvery glow from the moon – she looked ethereally beautiful and it took his breath away.

Gently, he laid her on the ground; grass, sand and leaves quietly scrunching underneath her. He lay next to her; propped up on an elbow so he could see her as his hands ghosted over her body almost reverently; as though she were so delicate, so fragile she might break at the slightest touch.

His fingers caressed her, finding those secret places that he knew would draw out a sigh or a shaky breath. He nipped lightly at her neck, lips moving slowly over the gentle curve of her breast; fingers tracing over her stomach; feeling the hollow at her hips and his lips rested there as his hands moved down; eliciting a muted whimper and her hands fluttered from his hair to his back; pulling him back so she could press her lips to his and he felt as though he was saving her; breathing his breath into her and bringing her back to life.

Her hands ran up his back to his face, cupping it in her hands; her eyes wide and solemn as he shifted, his body hovering over hers, like he was suspended and frozen in time.

In almost painstaking slowness, they joined together; a hiss of breath, a whisper and their eyes locked; his huge and impossibly green and stripping her bare down to her core, her heart and soul; hers silvered in the moonlight, wide and heavy lidded.

This dance was so familiar and they started it slowly and tentatively; like new lovers joining for the first time; unsure, shy and nervous.

His eyes never left hers and hers flickered closed; her teeth catching her bottom lip in a gesture that was so simple, so innocent but it drove him mad with how sensual she made it; an invitation to kiss her and he did; tugging her lip free with his and she sighed, tightening her arms around him as if she were drowning and he were the only thing keeping her afloat.

His tongue teased her lips, parting them and he let out a quiet growl at the taste of her and that scent; the scent that was so uniquely _her_, spice and sweet and she tasted of fruits and this alone was enough to send him mad with desire and their dance changed; fuelled by their lust, passion igniting like flames sparking on their skin.

She clung to him and he to her, sinking into each other and she arched her back; her hips slowly undulating against his and he finds this action so simple and yet it awakens something inside him; a primal need to claim this fragile woman as his own, to protect and love her until his last breath,

He shifted, leaning his forehead against hers, something he had frequently done before; a gesture that was sweet and familiar and he closes his eyes as their bodies move with a passion renewed and he feels himself spiraling down into darkness; while stars burst behind his eyelids and he feels the air around them change, charged with electricity and heat, want and need and then time just stops and he feels himself at the brink, needing only one simple movement from her to send him crashing into release and when it comes he hears a sound ripped from his throat that he has never heard before and he realizes that it's coming from her as well and they crash together in one last frantic and desperate movement.

Slowly, they open their eyes, vision hazy and bodies aching. He moves onto his back, pulling her to lay next to him; curled against his side, his arms forming a protective circle around her; cradling her next to him.

He smudges a gentle kiss over her forehead and her arms tighten around him, her eyes flicker closed and her breathing steadies.

As she drifts into the first nights' sleep she has had for weeks she dimly recalls a voice murmuring something to her in hushed gravelly tones; leaving her feeling warm and safe, needed, wanted and most importantly loved.

He knows he needs to say this to her as much as she needs to hear it and he knows now that this is where he needs to be; at her side and he allows himself a smile as he closes his eyes; whispering the three words that he will come to understand saved her that night.

"_I am yours…"_

**.oOOo..oOOo.**

**.END.**

**.oOOo.**


End file.
